Forbidden Love Unleashed
by Maria del Carmen
Summary: Romeo has second thoughts about suicide and finds Juliet alive......


ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
DRAMATIS PERSONAE  
  
ESCALUSprince of Verona. (PRINCE:)  
  
PARISa young nobleman, kinsman to the prince.  
  
MONTAGUE|  
  
| heads of two houses at variance with each other.  
  
CAPULET|  
  
An old man, cousin to Capulet. (Second Capulet:)  
  
ROMEOson to Montague.  
  
MERCUTIOkinsman to the prince, and friend to Romeo.  
  
BENVOLIOnephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.  
  
TYBALTnephew to Lady Capulet.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCE|  
  
| Franciscans.  
  
FRIAR JOHN|  
  
BALTHASARservant to Romeo.  
  
SAMPSON|  
  
| servants to Capulet.  
  
GREGORY|  
  
PETERservant to Juliet's nurse.  
  
ABRAHAMservant to Montague.  
  
An Apothecary. (Apothecary:)  
  
Three Musicians.  
  
(First Musician:)  
  
(Second Musician:)  
  
(Third Musician:)  
  
Page to Paris; (PAGE:) another Page; an officer.  
  
LADY MONTAGUEwife to Montague.  
  
LADY CAPULETwife to Capulet.  
  
JULIETdaughter to Capulet.  
  
Nurse to Juliet. (Nurse:)  
  
Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women,  
  
relations to both houses; Maskers,  
  
Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.  
  
(First Citizen:)  
  
(Servant:)  
  
(First Servant:)  
  
(Second Servant:)  
  
(First Watchman:)  
  
(Second Watchman:)  
  
(Third Watchman:)  
  
Chorus.  
  
SCENEVerona: Mantua.  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
Two households, both alike in dignity,  
  
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,  
  
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,  
  
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.  
  
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes  
  
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;  
  
Whole misadventured piteous overthrows  
  
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.  
  
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,  
  
And the continuance of their parents' rage,  
  
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,  
  
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;  
  
The which if you with patient ears attend,  
  
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT I  
  
SCENE IVerona. A public place.  
  
[Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet,  
  
armed with swords and bucklers]  
  
SAMPSONGregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.  
  
GREGORYNo, for then we should be colliers.  
  
SAMPSONI mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.  
  
GREGORYAy, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar.  
  
SAMPSONI strike quickly, being moved.  
  
GREGORYBut thou art not quickly moved to strike.  
  
SAMPSONA dog of the house of Montague moves me.  
  
GREGORYTo move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:  
  
therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.  
  
SAMPSONA dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will  
  
take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.  
  
GREGORYThat shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes  
  
to the wall.  
  
SAMPSONTrue; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,  
  
are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push  
  
Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids  
  
to the wall.  
  
GREGORYThe quarrel is between our masters and us their men.  
  
SAMPSON'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I  
  
have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the  
  
maids, and cut off their heads.  
  
GREGORYThe heads of the maids?  
  
SAMPSONAy, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;  
  
take it in what sense thou wilt.  
  
GREGORYThey must take it in sense that feel it.  
  
SAMPSONMe they shall feel while I am able to stand: and  
  
'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.  
  
GREGORY'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou  
  
hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes  
  
two of the house of the Montagues.  
  
SAMPSONMy naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.  
  
GREGORYHow! turn thy back and run?  
  
SAMPSONFear me not.  
  
GREGORYNo, marry; I fear thee!  
  
SAMPSONLet us take the law of our sides; let them begin.  
  
GREGORYI will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as  
  
they list.  
  
SAMPSONNay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them;  
  
which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.  
  
[Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR]  
  
ABRAHAMDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?  
  
SAMPSONI do bite my thumb, sir.  
  
ABRAHAMDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?  
  
SAMPSON[Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say  
  
ay?  
  
GREGORYNo.  
  
SAMPSONNo, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I  
  
bite my thumb, sir.  
  
GREGORYDo you quarrel, sir?  
  
ABRAHAMQuarrel sir! no, sir.  
  
SAMPSONIf you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.  
  
ABRAHAMNo better.  
  
SAMPSONWell, sir.  
  
GREGORYSay 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.  
  
SAMPSONYes, better, sir.  
  
ABRAHAMYou lie.  
  
SAMPSONDraw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.  
  
[They fight]  
  
[Enter BENVOLIO]  
  
BENVOLIOPart, fools!  
  
Put up your swords; you know not what you do.  
  
[Beats down their swords]  
  
[Enter TYBALT]  
  
TYBALTWhat, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?  
  
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.  
  
BENVOLIOI do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,  
  
Or manage it to part these men with me.  
  
TYBALTWhat, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,  
  
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:  
  
Have at thee, coward!  
  
[They fight]  
  
[Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray;  
  
then enter Citizens, with clubs]  
  
First CitizenClubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!  
  
Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!  
  
[Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET]  
  
CAPULETWhat noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!  
  
LADY CAPULETA crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword?  
  
CAPULETMy sword, I say! Old Montague is come,  
  
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.  
  
[Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]  
  
MONTAGUEThou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go.  
  
LADY MONTAGUEThou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.  
  
[Enter PRINCE, with Attendants]  
  
PRINCERebellious subjects, enemies to peace,  
  
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--  
  
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,  
  
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage  
  
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,  
  
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands  
  
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,  
  
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.  
  
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,  
  
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,  
  
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,  
  
And made Verona's ancient citizens  
  
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,  
  
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,  
  
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:  
  
If ever you disturb our streets again,  
  
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.  
  
For this time, all the rest depart away:  
  
You Capulet; shall go along with me:  
  
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,  
  
To know our further pleasure in this case,  
  
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.  
  
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.  
  
[Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO]  
  
MONTAGUEWho set this ancient quarrel new abroach?  
  
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?  
  
BENVOLIOHere were the servants of your adversary,  
  
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:  
  
I drew to part them: in the instant came  
  
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,  
  
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,  
  
He swung about his head and cut the winds,  
  
Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn:  
  
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,  
  
Came more and more and fought on part and part,  
  
Till the prince came, who parted either part.  
  
LADY MONTAGUEO, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?  
  
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.  
  
BENVOLIOMadam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun  
  
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,  
  
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;  
  
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore  
  
That westward rooteth from the city's side,  
  
So early walking did I see your son:  
  
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me  
  
And stole into the covert of the wood:  
  
I, measuring his affections by my own,  
  
That most are busied when they're most alone,  
  
Pursued my humour not pursuing his,  
  
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.  
  
MONTAGUEMany a morning hath he there been seen,  
  
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew.  
  
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;  
  
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun  
  
Should in the furthest east begin to draw  
  
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,  
  
Away from the light steals home my heavy son,  
  
And private in his chamber pens himself,  
  
Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out  
  
And makes himself an artificial night:  
  
Black and portentous must this humour prove,  
  
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.  
  
BENVOLIOMy noble uncle, do you know the cause?  
  
MONTAGUEI neither know it nor can learn of him.  
  
BENVOLIOHave you importuned him by any means?  
  
MONTAGUEBoth by myself and many other friends:  
  
But he, his own affections' counsellor,  
  
Is to himself--I will not say how true--  
  
But to himself so secret and so close,  
  
So far from sounding and discovery,  
  
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,  
  
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,  
  
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.  
  
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.  
  
We would as willingly give cure as know.  
  
[Enter ROMEO]  
  
BENVOLIOSee, where he comes: so please you, step aside;  
  
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.  
  
MONTAGUEI would thou wert so happy by thy stay,  
  
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.  
  
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]  
  
BENVOLIOGood-morrow, cousin.  
  
ROMEOIs the day so young?  
  
BENVOLIOBut new struck nine.  
  
ROMEOAy me! sad hours seem long.  
  
Was that my father that went hence so fast?  
  
BENVOLIOIt was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?  
  
ROMEONot having that, which, having, makes them short.  
  
BENVOLIOIn love?  
  
ROMEOOut--  
  
BENVOLIOOf love?  
  
ROMEOOut of her favour, where I am in love.  
  
BENVOLIOAlas, that love, so gentle in his view,  
  
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!  
  
ROMEOAlas, that love, whose view is muffled still,  
  
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!  
  
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?  
  
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.  
  
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.  
  
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!  
  
O any thing, of nothing first create!  
  
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!  
  
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!  
  
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,  
  
sick health!  
  
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!  
  
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.  
  
Dost thou not laugh?  
  
BENVOLIONo, coz, I rather weep.  
  
ROMEOGood heart, at what?  
  
BENVOLIOAt thy good heart's oppression.  
  
ROMEOWhy, such is love's transgression.  
  
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,  
  
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest  
  
With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown  
  
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.  
  
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;  
  
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;  
  
Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:  
  
What is it else? a madness most discreet,  
  
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.  
  
Farewell, my coz.  
  
BENVOLIO Soft! I will go along;  
  
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.  
  
ROMEOTut, I have lost myself; I am not here;  
  
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.  
  
BENVOLIOTell me in sadness, who is that you love.  
  
ROMEOWhat, shall I groan and tell thee?  
  
BENVOLIOGroan! why, no.  
  
But sadly tell me who.  
  
ROMEOBid a sick man in sadness make his will:  
  
Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!  
  
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.  
  
BENVOLIOI aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved.  
  
ROMEOA right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.  
  
BENVOLIOA right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.  
  
ROMEOWell, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit  
  
With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit;  
  
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,  
  
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.  
  
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,  
  
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,  
  
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:  
  
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,  
  
That when she dies with beauty dies her store.  
  
BENVOLIOThen she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?  
  
ROMEOShe hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,  
  
For beauty starved with her severity  
  
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.  
  
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,  
  
To merit bliss by making me despair:  
  
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow  
  
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.  
  
BENVOLIOBe ruled by me, forget to think of her.  
  
ROMEOO, teach me how I should forget to think.  
  
BENVOLIOBy giving liberty unto thine eyes;  
  
Examine other beauties.  
  
ROMEO'Tis the way  
  
To call hers exquisite, in question more:  
  
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows  
  
Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;  
  
He that is strucken blind cannot forget  
  
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:  
  
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,  
  
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note  
  
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?  
  
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.  
  
BENVOLIOI'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT I  
  
SCENE IIA street.  
  
[Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant]  
  
CAPULETBut Montague is bound as well as I,  
  
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,  
  
For men so old as we to keep the peace.  
  
PARISOf honourable reckoning are you both;  
  
And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.  
  
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?  
  
CAPULETBut saying o'er what I have said before:  
  
My child is yet a stranger in the world;  
  
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years,  
  
Let two more summers wither in their pride,  
  
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.  
  
PARISYounger than she are happy mothers made.  
  
CAPULETAnd too soon marr'd are those so early made.  
  
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,  
  
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:  
  
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,  
  
My will to her consent is but a part;  
  
An she agree, within her scope of choice  
  
Lies my consent and fair according voice.  
  
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,  
  
Whereto I have invited many a guest,  
  
Such as I love; and you, among the store,  
  
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.  
  
At my poor house look to behold this night  
  
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:  
  
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel  
  
When well-apparell'd April on the heel  
  
Of limping winter treads, even such delight  
  
Among fresh female buds shall you this night  
  
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,  
  
And like her most whose merit most shall be:  
  
Which on more view, of many mine being one  
  
May stand in number, though in reckoning none,  
  
Come, go with me.  
  
[To Servant, giving a paper]  
  
Go, sirrah, trudge about  
  
Through fair Verona; find those persons out  
  
Whose names are written there, and to them say,  
  
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.  
  
[Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS]  
  
ServantFind them out whose names are written here! It is  
  
written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his  
  
yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with  
  
his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am  
  
sent to find those persons whose names are here  
  
writ, and can never find what names the writing  
  
person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time.  
  
[Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO]  
  
BENVOLIOTut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,  
  
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;  
  
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;  
  
One desperate grief cures with another's languish:  
  
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,  
  
And the rank poison of the old will die.  
  
ROMEOYour plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.  
  
BENVOLIOFor what, I pray thee?  
  
ROMEOFor your broken shin.  
  
BENVOLIOWhy, Romeo, art thou mad?  
  
ROMEONot mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;  
  
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,  
  
Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow.  
  
ServantGod gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?  
  
ROMEOAy, mine own fortune in my misery.  
  
ServantPerhaps you have learned it without book: but, I  
  
pray, can you read any thing you see?  
  
ROMEOAy, if I know the letters and the language.  
  
ServantYe say honestly: rest you merry!  
  
ROMEOStay, fellow; I can read.  
  
[Reads]  
  
'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;  
  
County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady  
  
widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely  
  
nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine  
  
uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece  
  
Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin  
  
Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair  
  
assembly: whither should they come?  
  
ServantUp.  
  
ROMEOWhither?  
  
ServantTo supper; to our house.  
  
ROMEOWhose house?  
  
ServantMy master's.  
  
ROMEOIndeed, I should have ask'd you that before.  
  
ServantNow I'll tell you without asking: my master is the  
  
great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house  
  
of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine.  
  
Rest you merry!  
  
[Exit]  
  
BENVOLIOAt this same ancient feast of Capulet's  
  
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest,  
  
With all the admired beauties of Verona:  
  
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,  
  
Compare her face with some that I shall show,  
  
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.  
  
ROMEOWhen the devout religion of mine eye  
  
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;  
  
And these, who often drown'd could never die,  
  
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!  
  
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun  
  
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.  
  
BENVOLIOTut, you saw her fair, none else being by,  
  
Herself poised with herself in either eye:  
  
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd  
  
Your lady's love against some other maid  
  
That I will show you shining at this feast,  
  
And she shall scant show well that now shows best.  
  
ROMEOI'll go along, no such sight to be shown,  
  
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT I  
  
SCENE IIIA room in Capulet's house.  
  
[Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse]  
  
LADY CAPULETNurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.  
  
NurseNow, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,  
  
I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird!  
  
God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!  
  
[Enter JULIET]  
  
JULIETHow now! who calls?  
  
NurseYour mother.  
  
JULIETMadam, I am here.  
  
What is your will?  
  
LADY CAPULETThis is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile,  
  
We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again;  
  
I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.  
  
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.  
  
NurseFaith, I can tell her age unto an hour.  
  
LADY CAPULETShe's not fourteen.  
  
NurseI'll lay fourteen of my teeth,--  
  
And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four--  
  
She is not fourteen. How long is it now  
  
To Lammas-tide?  
  
LADY CAPULET A fortnight and odd days.  
  
NurseEven or odd, of all days in the year,  
  
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.  
  
Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!--  
  
Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;  
  
She was too good for me: but, as I said,  
  
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;  
  
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.  
  
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;  
  
And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,--  
  
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:  
  
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,  
  
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;  
  
My lord and you were then at Mantua:--  
  
Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said,  
  
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple  
  
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,  
  
To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!  
  
Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,  
  
To bid me trudge:  
  
And since that time it is eleven years;  
  
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,  
  
She could have run and waddled all about;  
  
For even the day before, she broke her brow:  
  
And then my husband--God be with his soul!  
  
A' was a merry man--took up the child:  
  
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?  
  
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;  
  
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,  
  
The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.'  
  
To see, now, how a jest shall come about!  
  
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,  
  
I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he;  
  
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'  
  
LADY CAPULETEnough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.  
  
NurseYes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh,  
  
To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.'  
  
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow  
  
A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone;  
  
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly:  
  
'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face?  
  
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;  
  
Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.'  
  
JULIETAnd stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.  
  
NursePeace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!  
  
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed:  
  
An I might live to see thee married once,  
  
I have my wish.  
  
LADY CAPULETMarry, that 'marry' is the very theme  
  
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,  
  
How stands your disposition to be married?  
  
JULIETIt is an honour that I dream not of.  
  
NurseAn honour! were not I thine only nurse,  
  
I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.  
  
LADY CAPULETWell, think of marriage now; younger than you,  
  
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,  
  
Are made already mothers: by my count,  
  
I was your mother much upon these years  
  
That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:  
  
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.  
  
NurseA man, young lady! lady, such a man  
  
As all the world--why, he's a man of wax.  
  
LADY CAPULETVerona's summer hath not such a flower.  
  
NurseNay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.  
  
LADY CAPULETWhat say you? can you love the gentleman?  
  
This night you shall behold him at our feast;  
  
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,  
  
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;  
  
Examine every married lineament,  
  
And see how one another lends content  
  
And what obscured in this fair volume lies  
  
Find written in the margent of his eyes.  
  
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,  
  
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:  
  
The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride  
  
For fair without the fair within to hide:  
  
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,  
  
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;  
  
So shall you share all that he doth possess,  
  
By having him, making yourself no less.  
  
NurseNo less! nay, bigger; women grow by men.  
  
LADY CAPULETSpeak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?  
  
JULIETI'll look to like, if looking liking move:  
  
But no more deep will I endart mine eye  
  
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.  
  
[Enter a Servant]  
  
ServantMadam, the guests are come, supper served up, you  
  
called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in  
  
the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must  
  
hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.  
  
LADY CAPULETWe follow thee.  
  
[Exit Servant]  
  
Juliet, the county stays.  
  
NurseGo, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT I  
  
SCENE IVA street.  
  
[Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six  
  
Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others]  
  
ROMEOWhat, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?  
  
Or shall we on without a apology?  
  
BENVOLIOThe date is out of such prolixity:  
  
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf,  
  
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,  
  
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;  
  
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke  
  
After the prompter, for our entrance:  
  
But let them measure us by what they will;  
  
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.  
  
ROMEOGive me a torch: I am not for this ambling;  
  
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.  
  
MERCUTIONay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.  
  
ROMEONot I, believe me: you have dancing shoes  
  
With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead  
  
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.  
  
MERCUTIOYou are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,  
  
And soar with them above a common bound.  
  
ROMEOI am too sore enpierced with his shaft  
  
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,  
  
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:  
  
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.  
  
MERCUTIOAnd, to sink in it, should you burden love;  
  
Too great oppression for a tender thing.  
  
ROMEOIs love a tender thing? it is too rough,  
  
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.  
  
MERCUTIOIf love be rough with you, be rough with love;  
  
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.  
  
Give me a case to put my visage in:  
  
A visor for a visor! what care I  
  
What curious eye doth quote deformities?  
  
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.  
  
BENVOLIOCome, knock and enter; and no sooner in,  
  
But every man betake him to his legs.  
  
ROMEOA torch for me: let wantons light of heart  
  
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels,  
  
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase;  
  
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.  
  
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.  
  
MERCUTIOTut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:  
  
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire  
  
Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st  
  
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!  
  
ROMEONay, that's not so.  
  
MERCUTIOI mean, sir, in delay  
  
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.  
  
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits  
  
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.  
  
ROMEOAnd we mean well in going to this mask;  
  
But 'tis no wit to go.  
  
MERCUTIOWhy, may one ask?  
  
ROMEOI dream'd a dream to-night.  
  
MERCUTIOAnd so did I.  
  
ROMEOWell, what was yours?  
  
MERCUTIOThat dreamers often lie.  
  
ROMEOIn bed asleep, while they do dream things true.  
  
MERCUTIOO, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.  
  
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes  
  
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone  
  
On the fore-finger of an alderman,  
  
Drawn with a team of little atomies  
  
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;  
  
Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs,  
  
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,  
  
The traces of the smallest spider's web,  
  
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,  
  
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,  
  
Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,  
  
Not so big as a round little worm  
  
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;  
  
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut  
  
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,  
  
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.  
  
And in this state she gallops night by night  
  
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;  
  
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,  
  
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,  
  
O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,  
  
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,  
  
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:  
  
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,  
  
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;  
  
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail  
  
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,  
  
Then dreams, he of another benefice:  
  
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,  
  
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,  
  
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,  
  
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon  
  
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,  
  
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two  
  
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab  
  
That plats the manes of horses in the night,  
  
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,  
  
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:  
  
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,  
  
That presses them and learns them first to bear,  
  
Making them women of good carriage:  
  
This is she--  
  
ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!  
  
Thou talk'st of nothing.  
  
MERCUTIOTrue, I talk of dreams,  
  
Which are the children of an idle brain,  
  
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,  
  
Which is as thin of substance as the air  
  
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes  
  
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,  
  
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,  
  
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.  
  
BENVOLIOThis wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;  
  
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.  
  
ROMEOI fear, too early: for my mind misgives  
  
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars  
  
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date  
  
With this night's revels and expire the term  
  
Of a despised life closed in my breast  
  
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.  
  
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,  
  
Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen.  
  
BENVOLIOStrike, drum.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT I  
  
SCENE VA hall in Capulet's house.  
  
[Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins]  
  
First ServantWhere's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He  
  
shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher!  
  
Second ServantWhen good manners shall lie all in one or two men's  
  
hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.  
  
First ServantAway with the joint-stools, remove the  
  
court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save  
  
me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let  
  
the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.  
  
Antony, and Potpan!  
  
Second ServantAy, boy, ready.  
  
First ServantYou are looked for and called for, asked for and  
  
sought for, in the great chamber.  
  
Second ServantWe cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be  
  
brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.  
  
[Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house,  
  
meeting the Guests and Maskers]  
  
CAPULETWelcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes  
  
Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you.  
  
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all  
  
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,  
  
She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now?  
  
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day  
  
That I have worn a visor and could tell  
  
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,  
  
Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone:  
  
You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play.  
  
A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.  
  
[Music plays, and they dance]  
  
More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,  
  
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.  
  
Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.  
  
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;  
  
For you and I are past our dancing days:  
  
How long is't now since last yourself and I  
  
Were in a mask?  
  
Second Capulet By'r lady, thirty years.  
  
CAPULETWhat, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much:  
  
'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio,  
  
Come pentecost as quickly as it will,  
  
Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.  
  
Second Capulet'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir;  
  
His son is thirty.  
  
CAPULET Will you tell me that?  
  
His son was but a ward two years ago.  
  
ROMEO[To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth  
  
enrich the hand  
  
Of yonder knight?  
  
ServantI know not, sir.  
  
ROMEOO, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!  
  
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night  
  
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;  
  
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!  
  
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,  
  
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.  
  
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,  
  
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.  
  
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!  
  
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.  
  
TYBALTThis, by his voice, should be a Montague.  
  
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave  
  
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,  
  
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?  
  
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,  
  
To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.  
  
CAPULETWhy, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?  
  
TYBALTUncle, this is a Montague, our foe,  
  
A villain that is hither come in spite,  
  
To scorn at our solemnity this night.  
  
CAPULETYoung Romeo is it?  
  
TYBALT'Tis he, that villain Romeo.  
  
CAPULETContent thee, gentle coz, let him alone;  
  
He bears him like a portly gentleman;  
  
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him  
  
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth:  
  
I would not for the wealth of all the town  
  
Here in my house do him disparagement:  
  
Therefore be patient, take no note of him:  
  
It is my will, the which if thou respect,  
  
Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,  
  
And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.  
  
TYBALTIt fits, when such a villain is a guest:  
  
I'll not endure him.  
  
CAPULETHe shall be endured:  
  
What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to;  
  
Am I the master here, or you? go to.  
  
You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul!  
  
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!  
  
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!  
  
TYBALTWhy, uncle, 'tis a shame.  
  
CAPULETGo to, go to;  
  
You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed?  
  
This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what:  
  
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.  
  
Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go:  
  
Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame!  
  
I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts!  
  
TYBALTPatience perforce with wilful choler meeting  
  
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.  
  
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall  
  
Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.  
  
[Exit]  
  
ROMEO[To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand  
  
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:  
  
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand  
  
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.  
  
JULIETGood pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,  
  
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;  
  
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,  
  
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.  
  
ROMEOHave not saints lips, and holy palmers too?  
  
JULIETAy, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.  
  
ROMEOO, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;  
  
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.  
  
JULIETSaints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.  
  
ROMEOThen move not, while my prayer's effect I take.  
  
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.  
  
JULIETThen have my lips the sin that they have took.  
  
ROMEOSin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!  
  
Give me my sin again.  
  
JULIETYou kiss by the book.  
  
NurseMadam, your mother craves a word with you.  
  
ROMEOWhat is her mother?  
  
NurseMarry, bachelor,  
  
Her mother is the lady of the house,  
  
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous  
  
I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal;  
  
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her  
  
Shall have the chinks.  
  
ROMEOIs she a Capulet?  
  
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.  
  
BENVOLIOAway, begone; the sport is at the best.  
  
ROMEOAy, so I fear; the more is my unrest.  
  
CAPULETNay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;  
  
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.  
  
Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all  
  
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.  
  
More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed.  
  
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late:  
  
I'll to my rest.  
  
[Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse]  
  
JULIETCome hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?  
  
NurseThe son and heir of old Tiberio.  
  
JULIETWhat's he that now is going out of door?  
  
NurseMarry, that, I think, be young Petrucio.  
  
JULIETWhat's he that follows there, that would not dance?  
  
NurseI know not.  
  
JULIETGo ask his name: if he be married.  
  
My grave is like to be my wedding bed.  
  
NurseHis name is Romeo, and a Montague;  
  
The only son of your great enemy.  
  
JULIETMy only love sprung from my only hate!  
  
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!  
  
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,  
  
That I must love a loathed enemy.  
  
NurseWhat's this? what's this?  
  
JULIETA rhyme I learn'd even now  
  
Of one I danced withal.  
  
[One calls within 'Juliet.']  
  
NurseAnon, anon!  
  
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT II  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
[Enter Chorus]  
  
ChorusNow old desire doth in his death-bed lie,  
  
And young affection gapes to be his heir;  
  
That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,  
  
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.  
  
Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,  
  
Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,  
  
But to his foe supposed he must complain,  
  
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:  
  
Being held a foe, he may not have access  
  
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;  
  
And she as much in love, her means much less  
  
To meet her new-beloved any where:  
  
But passion lends them power, time means, to meet  
  
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.  
  
[Exit]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT II  
  
SCENE IA lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.  
  
[Enter ROMEO]  
  
ROMEOCan I go forward when my heart is here?  
  
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.  
  
[He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it]  
  
[Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO]  
  
BENVOLIORomeo! my cousin Romeo!  
  
MERCUTIOHe is wise;  
  
And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed.  
  
BENVOLIOHe ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:  
  
Call, good Mercutio.  
  
MERCUTIONay, I'll conjure too.  
  
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!  
  
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:  
  
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;  
  
Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;'  
  
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,  
  
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,  
  
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,  
  
When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!  
  
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;  
  
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.  
  
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,  
  
By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,  
  
By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh  
  
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,  
  
That in thy likeness thou appear to us!  
  
BENVOLIOAnd if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.  
  
MERCUTIOThis cannot anger him: 'twould anger him  
  
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle  
  
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand  
  
Till she had laid it and conjured it down;  
  
That were some spite: my invocation  
  
Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name  
  
I conjure only but to raise up him.  
  
BENVOLIOCome, he hath hid himself among these trees,  
  
To be consorted with the humorous night:  
  
Blind is his love and best befits the dark.  
  
MERCUTIOIf love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.  
  
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,  
  
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit  
  
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.  
  
Romeo, that she were, O, that she were  
  
An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear!  
  
Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed;  
  
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:  
  
Come, shall we go?  
  
BENVOLIO Go, then; for 'tis in vain  
  
To seek him here that means not to be found.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT II  
  
SCENE IICapulet's orchard.  
  
[Enter ROMEO]  
  
ROMEOHe jests at scars that never felt a wound.  
  
[JULIET appears above at a window]  
  
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?  
  
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.  
  
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,  
  
Who is already sick and pale with grief,  
  
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:  
  
Be not her maid, since she is envious;  
  
Her vestal livery is but sick and green  
  
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.  
  
It is my lady, O, it is my love!  
  
O, that she knew she were!  
  
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?  
  
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.  
  
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:  
  
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,  
  
Having some business, do entreat her eyes  
  
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.  
  
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?  
  
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,  
  
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven  
  
Would through the airy region stream so bright  
  
That birds would sing and think it were not night.  
  
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!  
  
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,  
  
That I might touch that cheek!  
  
JULIETAy me!  
  
ROMEOShe speaks:  
  
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art  
  
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head  
  
As is a winged messenger of heaven  
  
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes  
  
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him  
  
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds  
  
And sails upon the bosom of the air.  
  
JULIETO Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?  
  
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;  
  
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,  
  
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.  
  
ROMEO[Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?  
  
JULIET'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;  
  
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.  
  
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,  
  
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part  
  
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!  
  
What's in a name? that which we call a rose  
  
By any other name would smell as sweet;  
  
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,  
  
Retain that dear perfection which he owes  
  
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,  
  
And for that name which is no part of thee  
  
Take all myself.  
  
ROMEO I take thee at thy word:  
  
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;  
  
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.  
  
JULIETWhat man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night  
  
So stumblest on my counsel?  
  
ROMEOBy a name  
  
I know not how to tell thee who I am:  
  
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,  
  
Because it is an enemy to thee;  
  
Had I it written, I would tear the word.  
  
JULIETMy ears have not yet drunk a hundred words  
  
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:  
  
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?  
  
ROMEONeither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.  
  
JULIETHow camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?  
  
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,  
  
And the place death, considering who thou art,  
  
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.  
  
ROMEOWith love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;  
  
For stony limits cannot hold love out,  
  
And what love can do that dares love attempt;  
  
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.  
  
JULIETIf they do see thee, they will murder thee.  
  
ROMEOAlack, there lies more peril in thine eye  
  
Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,  
  
And I am proof against their enmity.  
  
JULIETI would not for the world they saw thee here.  
  
ROMEOI have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;  
  
And but thou love me, let them find me here:  
  
My life were better ended by their hate,  
  
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.  
  
JULIETBy whose direction found'st thou out this place?  
  
ROMEOBy love, who first did prompt me to inquire;  
  
He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.  
  
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far  
  
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,  
  
I would adventure for such merchandise.  
  
JULIETThou know'st the mask of night is on my face,  
  
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek  
  
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night  
  
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny  
  
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!  
  
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'  
  
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,  
  
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries  
  
Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,  
  
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:  
  
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,  
  
I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,  
  
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.  
  
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,  
  
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:  
  
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true  
  
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.  
  
I should have been more strange, I must confess,  
  
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,  
  
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,  
  
And not impute this yielding to light love,  
  
Which the dark night hath so discovered.  
  
ROMEOLady, by yonder blessed moon I swear  
  
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--  
  
JULIETO, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,  
  
That monthly changes in her circled orb,  
  
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.  
  
ROMEOWhat shall I swear by?  
  
JULIETDo not swear at all;  
  
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,  
  
Which is the god of my idolatry,  
  
And I'll believe thee.  
  
ROMEOIf my heart's dear love--  
  
JULIETWell, do not swear: although I joy in thee,  
  
I have no joy of this contract to-night:  
  
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;  
  
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be  
  
Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!  
  
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,  
  
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.  
  
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest  
  
Come to thy heart as that within my breast!  
  
ROMEOO, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?  
  
JULIETWhat satisfaction canst thou have to-night?  
  
ROMEOThe exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.  
  
JULIETI gave thee mine before thou didst request it:  
  
And yet I would it were to give again.  
  
ROMEOWouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?  
  
JULIETBut to be frank, and give it thee again.  
  
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:  
  
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,  
  
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,  
  
The more I have, for both are infinite.  
  
[Nurse calls within]  
  
I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!  
  
Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.  
  
Stay but a little, I will come again.  
  
[Exit, above]  
  
ROMEOO blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.  
  
Being in night, all this is but a dream,  
  
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.  
  
[Re-enter JULIET, above]  
  
JULIETThree words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.  
  
If that thy bent of love be honourable,  
  
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,  
  
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,  
  
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;  
  
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay  
  
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.  
  
Nurse[Within] Madam!  
  
JULIETI come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well,  
  
I do beseech thee--  
  
Nurse[Within] Madam!  
  
JULIETBy and by, I come:--  
  
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:  
  
To-morrow will I send.  
  
ROMEOSo thrive my soul--  
  
JULIETA thousand times good night!  
  
[Exit, above]  
  
ROMEOA thousand times the worse, to want thy light.  
  
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from  
  
their books,  
  
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.  
  
[Retiring]  
  
[Re-enter JULIET, above]  
  
JULIETHist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,  
  
To lure this tassel-gentle back again!  
  
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;  
  
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,  
  
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,  
  
With repetition of my Romeo's name.  
  
ROMEOIt is my soul that calls upon my name:  
  
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,  
  
Like softest music to attending ears!  
  
JULIETRomeo!  
  
ROMEO My dear?  
  
JULIET At what o'clock to-morrow  
  
Shall I send to thee?  
  
ROMEOAt the hour of nine.  
  
JULIETI will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.  
  
I have forgot why I did call thee back.  
  
ROMEOLet me stand here till thou remember it.  
  
JULIETI shall forget, to have thee still stand there,  
  
Remembering how I love thy company.  
  
ROMEOAnd I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,  
  
Forgetting any other home but this.  
  
JULIET'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:  
  
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;  
  
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,  
  
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,  
  
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,  
  
So loving-jealous of his liberty.  
  
ROMEOI would I were thy bird.  
  
JULIETSweet, so would I:  
  
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.  
  
Good night, good night! parting is such  
  
sweet sorrow,  
  
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.  
  
[Exit above]  
  
ROMEOSleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!  
  
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!  
  
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,  
  
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.  
  
[Exit]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT II  
  
SCENE IIIFriar Laurence's cell.  
  
[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket]  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEThe grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,  
  
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,  
  
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels  
  
From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels:  
  
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,  
  
The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,  
  
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours  
  
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.  
  
The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb;  
  
What is her burying grave that is her womb,  
  
And from her womb children of divers kind  
  
We sucking on her natural bosom find,  
  
Many for many virtues excellent,  
  
None but for some and yet all different.  
  
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies  
  
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:  
  
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live  
  
But to the earth some special good doth give,  
  
Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use  
  
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:  
  
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;  
  
And vice sometimes by action dignified.  
  
Within the infant rind of this small flower  
  
Poison hath residence and medicine power:  
  
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;  
  
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.  
  
Two such opposed kings encamp them still  
  
In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;  
  
And where the worser is predominant,  
  
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.  
  
[Enter ROMEO]  
  
ROMEOGood morrow, father.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEBenedicite!  
  
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?  
  
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head  
  
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:  
  
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,  
  
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;  
  
But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain  
  
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:  
  
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure  
  
Thou art up-roused by some distemperature;  
  
Or if not so, then here I hit it right,  
  
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.  
  
ROMEOThat last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEGod pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?  
  
ROMEOWith Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;  
  
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEThat's my good son: but where hast thou been, then?  
  
ROMEOI'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.  
  
I have been feasting with mine enemy,  
  
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me,  
  
That's by me wounded: both our remedies  
  
Within thy help and holy physic lies:  
  
I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,  
  
My intercession likewise steads my foe.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEBe plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;  
  
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.  
  
ROMEOThen plainly know my heart's dear love is set  
  
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:  
  
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;  
  
And all combined, save what thou must combine  
  
By holy marriage: when and where and how  
  
We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow,  
  
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,  
  
That thou consent to marry us to-day.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEHoly Saint Francis, what a change is here!  
  
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,  
  
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies  
  
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.  
  
Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine  
  
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!  
  
How much salt water thrown away in waste,  
  
To season love, that of it doth not taste!  
  
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,  
  
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;  
  
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit  
  
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet:  
  
If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine,  
  
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline:  
  
And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then,  
  
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.  
  
ROMEOThou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEFor doting, not for loving, pupil mine.  
  
ROMEOAnd bad'st me bury love.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCENot in a grave,  
  
To lay one in, another out to have.  
  
ROMEOI pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now  
  
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;  
  
The other did not so.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEO, she knew well  
  
Thy love did read by rote and could not spell.  
  
But come, young waverer, come, go with me,  
  
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;  
  
For this alliance may so happy prove,  
  
To turn your households' rancour to pure love.  
  
ROMEOO, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEWisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT II  
  
SCENE IVA street.  
  
[Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO]  
  
MERCUTIOWhere the devil should this Romeo be?  
  
Came he not home to-night?  
  
BENVOLIONot to his father's; I spoke with his man.  
  
MERCUTIOAh, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline.  
  
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.  
  
BENVOLIOTybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,  
  
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.  
  
MERCUTIOA challenge, on my life.  
  
BENVOLIORomeo will answer it.  
  
MERCUTIOAny man that can write may answer a letter.  
  
BENVOLIONay, he will answer the letter's master, how he  
  
dares, being dared.  
  
MERCUTIOAlas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a  
  
white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a  
  
love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the  
  
blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to  
  
encounter Tybalt?  
  
BENVOLIOWhy, what is Tybalt?  
  
MERCUTIOMore than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is  
  
the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as  
  
you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and  
  
proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and  
  
the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk  
  
button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the  
  
very first house, of the first and second cause:  
  
ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the  
  
hai!  
  
BENVOLIOThe what?  
  
MERCUTIOThe pox of such antic, lisping, affecting  
  
fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu,  
  
a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good  
  
whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing,  
  
grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with  
  
these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these  
  
perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form,  
  
that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their  
  
bones, their bones!  
  
[Enter ROMEO]  
  
BENVOLIOHere comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.  
  
MERCUTIOWithout his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh,  
  
how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers  
  
that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a  
  
kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to  
  
be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy;  
  
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey  
  
eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior  
  
Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation  
  
to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit  
  
fairly last night.  
  
ROMEOGood morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?  
  
MERCUTIOThe ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?  
  
ROMEOPardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in  
  
such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.  
  
MERCUTIOThat's as much as to say, such a case as yours  
  
constrains a man to bow in the hams.  
  
ROMEOMeaning, to court'sy.  
  
MERCUTIOThou hast most kindly hit it.  
  
ROMEOA most courteous exposition.  
  
MERCUTIONay, I am the very pink of courtesy.  
  
ROMEOPink for flower.  
  
MERCUTIORight.  
  
ROMEOWhy, then is my pump well flowered.  
  
MERCUTIOWell said: follow me this jest now till thou hast  
  
worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it  
  
is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular.  
  
ROMEOO single-soled jest, solely singular for the  
  
singleness.  
  
MERCUTIOCome between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.  
  
ROMEOSwitch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.  
  
MERCUTIONay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have  
  
done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of  
  
thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five:  
  
was I with you there for the goose?  
  
ROMEOThou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast  
  
not there for the goose.  
  
MERCUTIOI will bite thee by the ear for that jest.  
  
ROMEONay, good goose, bite not.  
  
MERCUTIOThy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most  
  
sharp sauce.  
  
ROMEOAnd is it not well served in to a sweet goose?  
  
MERCUTIOO here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an  
  
inch narrow to an ell broad!  
  
ROMEOI stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added  
  
to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.  
  
MERCUTIOWhy, is not this better now than groaning for love?  
  
now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art  
  
thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature:  
  
for this drivelling love is like a great natural,  
  
that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.  
  
BENVOLIOStop there, stop there.  
  
MERCUTIOThou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.  
  
BENVOLIOThou wouldst else have made thy tale large.  
  
MERCUTIOO, thou art deceived; I would have made it short:  
  
for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and  
  
meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.  
  
ROMEOHere's goodly gear!  
  
[Enter Nurse and PETER]  
  
MERCUTIOA sail, a sail!  
  
BENVOLIOTwo, two; a shirt and a smock.  
  
NursePeter!  
  
PETERAnon!  
  
NurseMy fan, Peter.  
  
MERCUTIOGood Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the  
  
fairer face.  
  
NurseGod ye good morrow, gentlemen.  
  
MERCUTIOGod ye good den, fair gentlewoman.  
  
NurseIs it good den?  
  
MERCUTIO'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the  
  
dial is now upon the prick of noon.  
  
NurseOut upon you! what a man are you!  
  
ROMEOOne, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to  
  
mar.  
  
NurseBy my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,'  
  
quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I  
  
may find the young Romeo?  
  
ROMEOI can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when  
  
you have found him than he was when you sought him:  
  
I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.  
  
NurseYou say well.  
  
MERCUTIOYea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith;  
  
wisely, wisely.  
  
Nurseif you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with  
  
you.  
  
BENVOLIOShe will indite him to some supper.  
  
MERCUTIOA bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho!  
  
ROMEOWhat hast thou found?  
  
MERCUTIONo hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie,  
  
that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.  
  
[Sings]  
  
An old hare hoar,  
  
And an old hare hoar,  
  
Is very good meat in lent  
  
But a hare that is hoar  
  
Is too much for a score,  
  
When it hoars ere it be spent.  
  
Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll  
  
to dinner, thither.  
  
ROMEOI will follow you.  
  
MERCUTIOFarewell, ancient lady; farewell,  
  
[Singing]  
  
'lady, lady, lady.'  
  
[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO]  
  
NurseMarry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy  
  
merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?  
  
ROMEOA gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk,  
  
and will speak more in a minute than he will stand  
  
to in a month.  
  
NurseAn a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him  
  
down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such  
  
Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall.  
  
Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am  
  
none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by  
  
too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?  
  
PETERI saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon  
  
should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare  
  
draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a  
  
good quarrel, and the law on my side.  
  
NurseNow, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about  
  
me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word:  
  
and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you  
  
out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself:  
  
but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into  
  
a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross  
  
kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman  
  
is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double  
  
with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered  
  
to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.  
  
ROMEONurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I  
  
protest unto thee--  
  
NurseGood heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much:  
  
Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman.  
  
ROMEOWhat wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.  
  
NurseI will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as  
  
I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.  
  
ROMEOBid her devise  
  
Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;  
  
And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell  
  
Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains.  
  
NurseNo truly sir; not a penny.  
  
ROMEOGo to; I say you shall.  
  
NurseThis afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.  
  
ROMEOAnd stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall:  
  
Within this hour my man shall be with thee  
  
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair;  
  
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy  
  
Must be my convoy in the secret night.  
  
Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains:  
  
Farewell; commend me to thy mistress.  
  
NurseNow God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.  
  
ROMEOWhat say'st thou, my dear nurse?  
  
NurseIs your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,  
  
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?  
  
ROMEOI warrant thee, my man's as true as steel.  
  
NURSEWell, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord,  
  
Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there  
  
is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain  
  
lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief  
  
see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her  
  
sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer  
  
man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks  
  
as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not  
  
rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?  
  
ROMEOAy, nurse; what of that? both with an R.  
  
NurseAh. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for  
  
the--No; I know it begins with some other  
  
letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of  
  
it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good  
  
to hear it.  
  
ROMEOCommend me to thy lady.  
  
NurseAy, a thousand times.  
  
[Exit Romeo]  
  
Peter!  
  
PETERAnon!  
  
NursePeter, take my fan, and go before and apace.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT II  
  
SCENE VCapulet's orchard.  
  
[Enter JULIET]  
  
JULIETThe clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;  
  
In half an hour she promised to return.  
  
Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so.  
  
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,  
  
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,  
  
Driving back shadows over louring hills:  
  
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,  
  
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.  
  
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill  
  
Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve  
  
Is three long hours, yet she is not come.  
  
Had she affections and warm youthful blood,  
  
She would be as swift in motion as a ball;  
  
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,  
  
And his to me:  
  
But old folks, many feign as they were dead;  
  
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.  
  
O God, she comes!  
  
[Enter Nurse and PETER]  
  
O honey nurse, what news?  
  
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.  
  
NursePeter, stay at the gate.  
  
[Exit PETER]  
  
JULIETNow, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad?  
  
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;  
  
If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news  
  
By playing it to me with so sour a face.  
  
NurseI am a-weary, give me leave awhile:  
  
Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had!  
  
JULIETI would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:  
  
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.  
  
NurseJesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?  
  
Do you not see that I am out of breath?  
  
JULIETHow art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath  
  
To say to me that thou art out of breath?  
  
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay  
  
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.  
  
Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;  
  
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:  
  
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad?  
  
NurseWell, you have made a simple choice; you know not  
  
how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his  
  
face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels  
  
all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body,  
  
though they be not to be talked on, yet they are  
  
past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy,  
  
but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy  
  
ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home?  
  
JULIETNo, no: but all this did I know before.  
  
What says he of our marriage? what of that?  
  
NurseLord, how my head aches! what a head have I!  
  
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.  
  
My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back!  
  
Beshrew your heart for sending me about,  
  
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!  
  
JULIETI' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.  
  
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?  
  
NurseYour love says, like an honest gentleman, and a  
  
courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I  
  
warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother?  
  
JULIETWhere is my mother! why, she is within;  
  
Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!  
  
'Your love says, like an honest gentleman,  
  
Where is your mother?'  
  
NurseO God's lady dear!  
  
Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow;  
  
Is this the poultice for my aching bones?  
  
Henceforward do your messages yourself.  
  
JULIETHere's such a coil! come, what says Romeo?  
  
NurseHave you got leave to go to shrift to-day?  
  
JULIETI have.  
  
NurseThen hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell;  
  
There stays a husband to make you a wife:  
  
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,  
  
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.  
  
Hie you to church; I must another way,  
  
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love  
  
Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark:  
  
I am the drudge and toil in your delight,  
  
But you shall bear the burden soon at night.  
  
Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell.  
  
JULIETHie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT II  
  
SCENE VIFriar Laurence's cell.  
  
[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO]  
  
FRIAR LAURENCESo smile the heavens upon this holy act,  
  
That after hours with sorrow chide us not!  
  
ROMEOAmen, amen! but come what sorrow can,  
  
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy  
  
That one short minute gives me in her sight:  
  
Do thou but close our hands with holy words,  
  
Then love-devouring death do what he dare;  
  
It is enough I may but call her mine.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEThese violent delights have violent ends  
  
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,  
  
Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey  
  
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness  
  
And in the taste confounds the appetite:  
  
Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;  
  
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.  
  
[Enter JULIET]  
  
Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot  
  
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:  
  
A lover may bestride the gossamer  
  
That idles in the wanton summer air,  
  
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.  
  
JULIETGood even to my ghostly confessor.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCERomeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.  
  
JULIETAs much to him, else is his thanks too much.  
  
ROMEOAh, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy  
  
Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more  
  
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath  
  
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue  
  
Unfold the imagined happiness that both  
  
Receive in either by this dear encounter.  
  
JULIETConceit, more rich in matter than in words,  
  
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:  
  
They are but beggars that can count their worth;  
  
But my true love is grown to such excess  
  
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCECome, come with me, and we will make short work;  
  
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone  
  
Till holy church incorporate two in one.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT III  
  
SCENE IA public place.  
  
[Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants]  
  
BENVOLIOI pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire:  
  
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,  
  
And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl;  
  
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.  
  
MERCUTIOThou art like one of those fellows that when he  
  
enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword  
  
upon the table and says 'God send me no need of  
  
thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws  
  
it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.  
  
BENVOLIOAm I like such a fellow?  
  
MERCUTIOCome, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as  
  
any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as  
  
soon moody to be moved.  
  
BENVOLIOAnd what to?  
  
MERCUTIONay, an there were two such, we should have none  
  
shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why,  
  
thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more,  
  
or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou  
  
wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no  
  
other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what  
  
eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?  
  
Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of  
  
meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as  
  
an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a  
  
man for coughing in the street, because he hath  
  
wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun:  
  
didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing  
  
his new doublet before Easter? with another, for  
  
tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou  
  
wilt tutor me from quarrelling!  
  
BENVOLIOAn I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man  
  
should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.  
  
MERCUTIOThe fee-simple! O simple!  
  
BENVOLIOBy my head, here come the Capulets.  
  
MERCUTIOBy my heel, I care not.  
  
[Enter TYBALT and others]  
  
TYBALTFollow me close, for I will speak to them.  
  
Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.  
  
MERCUTIOAnd but one word with one of us? couple it with  
  
something; make it a word and a blow.  
  
TYBALTYou shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you  
  
will give me occasion.  
  
MERCUTIOCould you not take some occasion without giving?  
  
TYBALTMercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,--  
  
MERCUTIOConsort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an  
  
thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but  
  
discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall  
  
make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!  
  
BENVOLIOWe talk here in the public haunt of men:  
  
Either withdraw unto some private place,  
  
And reason coldly of your grievances,  
  
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.  
  
MERCUTIOMen's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;  
  
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.  
  
[Enter ROMEO]  
  
TYBALTWell, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man.  
  
MERCUTIOBut I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery:  
  
Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower;  
  
Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.'  
  
TYBALTRomeo, the hate I bear thee can afford  
  
No better term than this,--thou art a villain.  
  
ROMEOTybalt, the reason that I have to love thee  
  
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage  
  
To such a greeting: villain am I none;  
  
Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.  
  
TYBALTBoy, this shall not excuse the injuries  
  
That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.  
  
ROMEOI do protest, I never injured thee,  
  
But love thee better than thou canst devise,  
  
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:  
  
And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender  
  
As dearly as my own,--be satisfied.  
  
MERCUTIOO calm, dishonourable, vile submission!  
  
Alla stoccata carries it away.  
  
[Draws]  
  
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?  
  
TYBALTWhat wouldst thou have with me?  
  
MERCUTIOGood king of cats, nothing but one of your nine  
  
lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you  
  
shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the  
  
eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher  
  
by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your  
  
ears ere it be out.  
  
TYBALTI am for you.  
  
[Drawing]  
  
ROMEOGentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.  
  
MERCUTIOCome, sir, your passado.  
  
[They fight]  
  
ROMEODraw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.  
  
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!  
  
Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath  
  
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets:  
  
Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!  
  
[TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies  
  
with his followers]  
  
MERCUTIOI am hurt.  
  
A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.  
  
Is he gone, and hath nothing?  
  
BENVOLIOWhat, art thou hurt?  
  
MERCUTIOAy, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.  
  
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.  
  
[Exit Page]  
  
ROMEOCourage, man; the hurt cannot be much.  
  
MERCUTIONo, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a  
  
church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for  
  
me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I  
  
am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o'  
  
both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a  
  
cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a  
  
rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of  
  
arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I  
  
was hurt under your arm.  
  
ROMEOI thought all for the best.  
  
MERCUTIOHelp me into some house, Benvolio,  
  
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!  
  
They have made worms' meat of me: I have it,  
  
And soundly too: your houses!  
  
[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO]  
  
ROMEOThis gentleman, the prince's near ally,  
  
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt  
  
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd  
  
With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour  
  
Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet,  
  
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate  
  
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!  
  
[Re-enter BENVOLIO]  
  
BENVOLIOO Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!  
  
That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,  
  
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.  
  
ROMEOThis day's black fate on more days doth depend;  
  
This but begins the woe, others must end.  
  
BENVOLIOHere comes the furious Tybalt back again.  
  
ROMEOAlive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain!  
  
Away to heaven, respective lenity,  
  
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!  
  
[Re-enter TYBALT]  
  
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,  
  
That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul  
  
Is but a little way above our heads,  
  
Staying for thine to keep him company:  
  
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.  
  
TYBALTThou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,  
  
Shalt with him hence.  
  
ROMEOThis shall determine that.  
  
[They fight; TYBALT falls]  
  
BENVOLIORomeo, away, be gone!  
  
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.  
  
Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death,  
  
If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away!  
  
ROMEOO, I am fortune's fool!  
  
BENVOLIOWhy dost thou stay?  
  
[Exit ROMEO]  
  
[Enter Citizens, &c]  
  
First CitizenWhich way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?  
  
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?  
  
BENVOLIOThere lies that Tybalt.  
  
First CitizenUp, sir, go with me;  
  
I charge thee in the princes name, obey.  
  
[Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their  
  
Wives, and others]  
  
PRINCEWhere are the vile beginners of this fray?  
  
BENVOLIOO noble prince, I can discover all  
  
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl:  
  
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,  
  
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.  
  
LADY CAPULETTybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!  
  
O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt  
  
O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,  
  
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.  
  
O cousin, cousin!  
  
PRINCEBenvolio, who began this bloody fray?  
  
BENVOLIOTybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;  
  
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink  
  
How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal  
  
Your high displeasure: all this uttered  
  
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,  
  
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen  
  
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts  
  
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,  
  
Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point,  
  
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats  
  
Cold death aside, and with the other sends  
  
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity,  
  
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,  
  
'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than  
  
his tongue,  
  
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,  
  
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm  
  
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life  
  
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;  
  
But by and by comes back to Romeo,  
  
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,  
  
And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I  
  
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain.  
  
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.  
  
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.  
  
LADY CAPULETHe is a kinsman to the Montague;  
  
Affection makes him false; he speaks not true:  
  
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,  
  
And all those twenty could but kill one life.  
  
I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give;  
  
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.  
  
PRINCERomeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;  
  
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?  
  
MONTAGUENot Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;  
  
His fault concludes but what the law should end,  
  
The life of Tybalt.  
  
PRINCEAnd for that offence  
  
Immediately we do exile him hence:  
  
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,  
  
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;  
  
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine  
  
That you shall all repent the loss of mine:  
  
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;  
  
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses:  
  
Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,  
  
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.  
  
Bear hence this body and attend our will:  
  
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT III  
  
SCENE IICapulet's orchard.  
  
[Enter JULIET]  
  
JULIETGallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,  
  
Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner  
  
As Phaethon would whip you to the west,  
  
And bring in cloudy night immediately.  
  
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,  
  
That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo  
  
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.  
  
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites  
  
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,  
  
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,  
  
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,  
  
And learn me how to lose a winning match,  
  
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:  
  
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,  
  
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,  
  
Think true love acted simple modesty.  
  
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;  
  
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night  
  
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.  
  
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,  
  
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,  
  
Take him and cut him out in little stars,  
  
And he will make the face of heaven so fine  
  
That all the world will be in love with night  
  
And pay no worship to the garish sun.  
  
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,  
  
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,  
  
Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day  
  
As is the night before some festival  
  
To an impatient child that hath new robes  
  
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,  
  
And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks  
  
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.  
  
[Enter Nurse, with cords]  
  
Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords  
  
That Romeo bid thee fetch?  
  
NurseAy, ay, the cords.  
  
[Throws them down]  
  
JULIETAy me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?  
  
NurseAh, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!  
  
We are undone, lady, we are undone!  
  
Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!  
  
JULIETCan heaven be so envious?  
  
NurseRomeo can,  
  
Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo!  
  
Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!  
  
JULIETWhat devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?  
  
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.  
  
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,'  
  
And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more  
  
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:  
  
I am not I, if there be such an I;  
  
Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.'  
  
If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no:  
  
Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.  
  
NurseI saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,--  
  
God save the mark!--here on his manly breast:  
  
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;  
  
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,  
  
All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight.  
  
JULIETO, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once!  
  
To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty!  
  
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;  
  
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!  
  
NurseO Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!  
  
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!  
  
That ever I should live to see thee dead!  
  
JULIETWhat storm is this that blows so contrary?  
  
Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead?  
  
My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord?  
  
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!  
  
For who is living, if those two are gone?  
  
NurseTybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;  
  
Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.  
  
JULIETO God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?  
  
NurseIt did, it did; alas the day, it did!  
  
JULIETO serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!  
  
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?  
  
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!  
  
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!  
  
Despised substance of divinest show!  
  
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,  
  
A damned saint, an honourable villain!  
  
O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell,  
  
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend  
  
In moral paradise of such sweet flesh?  
  
Was ever book containing such vile matter  
  
So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell  
  
In such a gorgeous palace!  
  
NurseThere's no trust,  
  
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,  
  
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.  
  
Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae:  
  
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.  
  
Shame come to Romeo!  
  
JULIETBlister'd be thy tongue  
  
For such a wish! he was not born to shame:  
  
Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit;  
  
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd  
  
Sole monarch of the universal earth.  
  
O, what a beast was I to chide at him!  
  
NurseWill you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?  
  
JULIETShall I speak ill of him that is my husband?  
  
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,  
  
When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?  
  
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?  
  
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:  
  
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;  
  
Your tributary drops belong to woe,  
  
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.  
  
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;  
  
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband:  
  
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?  
  
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,  
  
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;  
  
But, O, it presses to my memory,  
  
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:  
  
'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;'  
  
That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,'  
  
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death  
  
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:  
  
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship  
  
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,  
  
Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,'  
  
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,  
  
Which modern lamentations might have moved?  
  
But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,  
  
'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word,  
  
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,  
  
All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!'  
  
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,  
  
In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.  
  
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?  
  
NurseWeeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse:  
  
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.  
  
JULIETWash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent,  
  
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.  
  
Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled,  
  
Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled:  
  
He made you for a highway to my bed;  
  
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.  
  
Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed;  
  
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!  
  
NurseHie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo  
  
To comfort you: I wot well where he is.  
  
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:  
  
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.  
  
JULIETO, find him! give this ring to my true knight,  
  
And bid him come to take his last farewell.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT III  
  
SCENE IIIFriar Laurence's cell.  
  
[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE]  
  
FRIAR LAURENCERomeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man:  
  
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,  
  
And thou art wedded to calamity.  
  
[Enter ROMEO]  
  
ROMEOFather, what news? what is the prince's doom?  
  
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,  
  
That I yet know not?  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEToo familiar  
  
Is my dear son with such sour company:  
  
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.  
  
ROMEOWhat less than dooms-day is the prince's doom?  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEA gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,  
  
Not body's death, but body's banishment.  
  
ROMEOHa, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;'  
  
For exile hath more terror in his look,  
  
Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.'  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEHence from Verona art thou banished:  
  
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.  
  
ROMEOThere is no world without Verona walls,  
  
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.  
  
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,  
  
And world's exile is death: then banished,  
  
Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment,  
  
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe,  
  
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEO deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!  
  
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,  
  
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,  
  
And turn'd that black word death to banishment:  
  
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.  
  
ROMEO'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,  
  
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog  
  
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,  
  
Live here in heaven and may look on her;  
  
But Romeo may not: more validity,  
  
More honourable state, more courtship lives  
  
In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize  
  
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand  
  
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,  
  
Who even in pure and vestal modesty,  
  
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;  
  
But Romeo may not; he is banished:  
  
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:  
  
They are free men, but I am banished.  
  
And say'st thou yet that exile is not death?  
  
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,  
  
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,  
  
But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'?  
  
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;  
  
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,  
  
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,  
  
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,  
  
To mangle me with that word 'banished'?  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEThou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.  
  
ROMEOO, thou wilt speak again of banishment.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEI'll give thee armour to keep off that word:  
  
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,  
  
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.  
  
ROMEOYet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy!  
  
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,  
  
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,  
  
It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEO, then I see that madmen have no ears.  
  
ROMEOHow should they, when that wise men have no eyes?  
  
FRIAR LAURENCELet me dispute with thee of thy estate.  
  
ROMEOThou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel:  
  
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,  
  
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,  
  
Doting like me and like me banished,  
  
Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,  
  
And fall upon the ground, as I do now,  
  
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.  
  
[Knocking within]  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEArise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.  
  
ROMEONot I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,  
  
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.  
  
[Knocking]  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEHark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise;  
  
Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up;  
  
[Knocking]  
  
Run to my study. By and by! God's will,  
  
What simpleness is this! I come, I come!  
  
[Knocking]  
  
Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will?  
  
Nurse[Within] Let me come in, and you shall know  
  
my errand;  
  
I come from Lady Juliet.  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEWelcome, then.  
  
[Enter Nurse]  
  
NurseO holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,  
  
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEThere on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.  
  
NurseO, he is even in my mistress' case,  
  
Just in her case! O woful sympathy!  
  
Piteous predicament! Even so lies she,  
  
Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.  
  
Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man:  
  
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;  
  
Why should you fall into so deep an O?  
  
ROMEONurse!  
  
NurseAh sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all.  
  
ROMEOSpakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her?  
  
Doth she not think me an old murderer,  
  
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy  
  
With blood removed but little from her own?  
  
Where is she? and how doth she? and what says  
  
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?  
  
NurseO, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;  
  
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,  
  
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,  
  
And then down falls again.  
  
ROMEOAs if that name,  
  
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,  
  
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand  
  
Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me,  
  
In what vile part of this anatomy  
  
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack  
  
The hateful mansion.  
  
[Drawing his sword]  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEHold thy desperate hand:  
  
Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:  
  
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote  
  
The unreasonable fury of a beast:  
  
Unseemly woman in a seeming man!  
  
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!  
  
Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,  
  
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.  
  
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?  
  
And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,  
  
By doing damned hate upon thyself?  
  
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?  
  
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet  
  
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.  
  
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;  
  
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,  
  
And usest none in that true use indeed  
  
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:  
  
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,  
  
Digressing from the valour of a man;  
  
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,  
  
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;  
  
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,  
  
Misshapen in the conduct of them both,  
  
Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask,  
  
Is set afire by thine own ignorance,  
  
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.  
  
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,  
  
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;  
  
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,  
  
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too:  
  
The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend  
  
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:  
  
A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;  
  
Happiness courts thee in her best array;  
  
But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,  
  
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:  
  
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.  
  
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,  
  
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:  
  
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,  
  
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;  
  
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time  
  
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,  
  
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back  
  
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy  
  
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.  
  
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;  
  
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,  
  
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:  
  
Romeo is coming.  
  
NurseO Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night  
  
To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!  
  
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.  
  
ROMEODo so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.  
  
NurseHere, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:  
  
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.  
  
[Exit]  
  
ROMEOHow well my comfort is revived by this!  
  
FRIAR LAURENCEGo hence; good night; and here stands all your state:  
  
Either be gone before the watch be set,  
  
Or by the break of day disguised from hence:  
  
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,  
  
And he shall signify from time to time  
  
Every good hap to you that chances here:  
  
Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night.  
  
ROMEOBut that a joy past joy calls out on me,  
  
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT III  
  
SCENE IVA room in Capulet's house.  
  
[Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS]  
  
CAPULETThings have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,  
  
That we have had no time to move our daughter:  
  
Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,  
  
And so did I:--Well, we were born to die.  
  
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night:  
  
I promise you, but for your company,  
  
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.  
  
PARISThese times of woe afford no time to woo.  
  
Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.  
  
LADY CAPULETI will, and know her mind early to-morrow;  
  
To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.  
  
CAPULETSir Paris, I will make a desperate tender  
  
Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled  
  
In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not.  
  
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;  
  
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;  
  
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next--  
  
But, soft! what day is this?  
  
PARISMonday, my lord,  
  
CAPULETMonday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,  
  
O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her,  
  
She shall be married to this noble earl.  
  
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?  
  
We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two;  
  
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,  
  
It may be thought we held him carelessly,  
  
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:  
  
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,  
  
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?  
  
PARISMy lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.  
  
CAPULETWell get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then.  
  
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,  
  
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.  
  
Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho!  
  
Afore me! it is so very very late,  
  
That we may call it early by and by.  
  
Good night.  
  
[Exeunt]  
  
ROMEO AND JULIET  
  
ACT III  
  
SCENE VCapulet's orchard.  
  
[Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window]  
  
JULIETWilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:  
  
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,  
  
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;  
  
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:  
  
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.  
  
ROMEOIt was the lark, the herald of the morn,  
  
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks  
  
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:  
  
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day  
  
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.  
  
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.  
  
JULIETYon light is not day-light, I know it, I:  
  
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,  
  
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,  
  
And light thee on thy way to Mantua:  
  
Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.  
  
ROMEOLet me be ta'en, let me be put to death;  
  
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.  
  
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 


End file.
